


Field Maneuvers

by White Aster (white_aster)



Series: Field Maneuvers (FF7/FMA crossover) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII, Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man turned, and his eyes were a flash of mako-green scrutiny from all the way across the room.  Greed heard boots scuffling to attention behind him, and he followed suit, saluting.  "Sir.  5th SOLDIER Special Tactics Division, Alpha Unit, reporting for duty, sir."</p><p>(Crossover, SOLDIER!Greed, Sephiroth, and Wutai.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Maneuvers

Damn, but this country was a hole. A hot, wet hole, and not one of the good kinds. Ok, ok, Greed had to admit that it was pretty, and the people here looked like they might be friendly and happy and all, if they weren't busy scowling at anyone wearing Shinra blues or trying to pick off a few regulars as the caravans passed the jungle. But right now? With most of the natives just as willing to kill them as look at them? It was a hole. And sticky humid. And did he mention hot? The truck driver, a talkative guy whose name Greed never did catch, said that it only stayed like this for a few months, and that they'd get used to it. Fuck, but Greed hoped so. SOLDIERs were trained to withstand all sorts of pain and hardship, but that didn't mean that he had to LIKE it.

Luckily, his pack didn't seem too fazed by it. Dorochet had come from the ass-end of nowhere somewhere near Junon, where the summer was just as bad, though drier. Martel seemed to actually LIKE the heat, the freak, and had just responded by staying as still as possible with a little smile on her face. Law wasn't complaining. But then Law never complained about anything. It was one of the things Greed liked about Law. Greed did enough complaining for all of them, as far as Greed was concerned.

Greed'd been expecting the camp to be tents cluttered into some clearing somewhere. He'd heard that it was in the jungle, after all. He was surprised when they drove straight up to a wooden palisade that loomed out of the trees with little warning. There was the usual song and dance at the gate with identifying themselves, and Greed was happy to see that the regulars on duty were really eyeballing their transfer orders. It was good to know that the average Joe Rifle was taking security seriously here. But then, from what Greed'd heard about the resistance here (unofficially, of course), he wasn't surprised.

The camp was set up inside the palisade, in an abandoned village. The buildings were mostly wooden huts, now mixed with some small prefabs and tents. The rest of the pack peered out the back of the truck with him as they rumbled along the dirt road. "Home sweet home," Dorochet said cheerfully.

Law's eyes were on the palisade guards, the patrols that they could see rounding the inside of the walls. He grunted in what might have been satisfaction. Greed shared the sentiment and grinned. "Looks like the General keeps a tight ship, eh, Sergeant?"

Law crossed his arms across his chest. "You expected anything else?"

Greed shrugged. "S'pose not. Never met the man, though. Just heard he was hot shit and that he got the job done. But then we DID get sent to help, now didn't we?"

Martel murmured, "Sure sounds like this campaign's not going the way Corporate'd like, eh, Captain?"

Greed nodded, watching a few off-duty regulars in tanks and fatigues sharpening knives outside their tent, laughing at some joke between them. "Sounds like."

Martel looked over at him, serious, her green eyes glowing in the truck's semi-shade in a way Greed'd almost stopped noticing. "How bad is it, sir?"

Greed shrugged. "Hell if I know. I just work here, Corporal, same as you."

"So they didn't tell you shit, either."

"Hell no."

The truck stopped, and the driver called back to them, "We're here, sir!"

Greed put a hand on the overhead bar and stood. "Hopefully the general'll be more forthcoming than Dispatch was."

There was a general snort from behind him. "Yeah, right," Dorochet muttered. "And I'm little Rufie Shinra."

As he jumped down to the dirt and grabbed his duffel from by the tailgate, Greed had to agree with the sentiment. He wasn't happy with going into an assignment blind, either. It smacked of something fucked up on one end or another.

As the driver pointed him toward the command building, though, Greed had to admit that he was looking forward to finally meeting the famous General Sephiroth.

**************

Outside in the sun was still hot, but at least there was a bit of air moving. A very little bit. Greed walked over to the small, unremarkable prefab building that was serving as Command. The door was closed, and Greed led his travel-weary pack by example, dumping his duffel outside the door and knocking before moving inside.

The building wasn't that big, but they could all manage to move inside without running into anything. And at the first waft of...cool?... air from the open door, the rest of them piled in after him. Greed blinked in the sudden dimness after the bright afternoon sunlight, but could eventually make out a map table, a comm station, a few desks, some filing cabinets. Standard-issue command center chic. What made him smile though was the handful of sturdy standing fans that were blowing directly over large chunks of ice on mess trays that had been modified to channel the melted water into buckets on the floor. The ice was suspiciously lumpy. Lumpy like you'd get if you put water in any available, expendable container and then cast an ice spell over it and dumped them all on a modified mess tray to melt together.

Greed'd done much the same thing more than once, though not to cool a whole building. He had to admire the coordination required.

He looked about for someone to report to. There were a few guys gathered over by the comm station, two of them standing and one sitting in the comm officer's chair. All of them looked vaguely worried, but none of them looked General-like, if only because none of them had long enough or pale enough hair. "S'cuse me?" The guys turned, and Greed smiled. "Hey. New transfers. We're to report to the general."

The guys all looked down at the floor, out of Greed's line of sight, and a voice floated back to him, slightly muffled over the roar of the fans. "Please tell me that you're the new SOLDIER unit."

"Uh...we're the new SOLDIER unit?"

"Wonderful." There was a shuffling of bodies, and a pale head half-came into Greed's line of sight over the edge of a desk, talking to the guy in the comm chair. "Try it now."

The comm officer tapped a few buttons, adjusted a dial, and sighed, nodding. A few of the officers murmured "Thank you, sir"'s

"Thank me by getting on someone's case to get those ammo shipments here. Preferably before next winter."

"Yes, sir."

The man on the floor stood up, brushing off his pants, his back to the door, and the first thing Greed noticed was the long pale braid down his back, snaking down past his ass, out of Greed's line of sight. The second thing he noticed was the very nice musculature filling out the white, standard-issue undershirt. Then the man turned, and his eyes were a flash of mako-green scrutiny from all the way across the room. Greed heard boots scuffling to attention behind him, and he followed suit, saluting. "Sir. 5th SOLDIER Special Tactics DIvision, Alpha Unit, reporting for duty, sir."

"At ease," Sephiroth said, walking over to a desk remarkable among the others only because it looked moderately organized. He picked up a dress shirt that was hung neatly over the back, and proceeded to put it on, eyes flickering from Greed to each of his men in turn. "I've heard good things about Alpha Unit. I certainly hope you live up to your reputation. You're going to need it."

That didn't sound good. But then, Corporate never sent them out for tea parties. Greed merely saluted again. "Sir."

The general picked up something off his desk and walked over to hold it out to Greed. Greed blinked up a bit as he traded their transfer papers for the manila folder. Damn, the man was tall. Almost as tall as Law, and that was saying something.

Tall and fuck but he was pretty, like a blizzard or a blade, sharp and cold. But Greed kept that thought tucked away in the spare sock drawer of his mind.

Sephiroth only glanced over the papers before putting them down on his desk. "That folder's got maps and engagement lists in it. Familiarize you and your men with them asap. We will be going out on reconnaisance tomorrow. You can get the lay of the land then. There will be a briefing here at nineteen-thirty hours tonight with more details." Sephiroth gestured behind them. "Your tent should be out and to the right, sixth on the right. If it's not ready for you, you have permission to hassle Chi Unit about it. Questions?"

A chorus of "No, Sir"s answered him.

"Good. Dismissed."

Back out in the heat of the afternoon, with the door closed behind them, Greed could hear each of his men breathe a sigh of relief as they collected their duffels. He could sympathize. True to his reputation, Sephiroth had a presence that filled the room, imposing, intimidating, and after five minutes with the man, Greed was convinced that not a mouse scurried in this whole camp that Sephiroth didn't know about. His attention was enough to make a man wonder if his sins were written all over his face.

"Not wasting any time, huh?" Dorochet said behind him.

"Oh, c'mon," Martel answered, stretching her arms over her head. "I'm looking forward to some action. That trip was drop-dead boring."

"Except when the snipers were taking shots at us."

"Well, yeah, except that."

Greed hefted his bag, heading to the right. "I get the feeling that we're all gonna see more than enough action pretty damn soon."

"Yeah, I got that feeling, too," Dorochet muttered softly, eyes raking over the encampment. "I got a bad feeling about this, sir."

Greed grinned back at him. "You and me both, Corporal. C'mon. Let's go see how much ass we have to kick to get some beds and a place out of the damned sun."

******************

The briefing that night was standard: a map, a route, black X's to mark turn points, and red X's (and a few large red circles, which didn't do much to improve Greed's view of how under control things were here, but he kept his peace) to indicate areas of possible ambush or enemy encounter. There was another SOLDIER unit there, and the commanding officers of a few regulars platoons. Greed, off to the side with his team, watched the other officers carefully through the briefing. None of them expressed much surprise at anything that the general said, even when he enlarged one of the red circles from what was already on the map just to make a point. No one looked particularly happy to be there, but Greed was glad to see that no one had the haunted look of men who expected to be dead the next evening, either.

That was, in Greed's experience, always a good sign.

Greed had to hand it to Sephiroth, though. The man got right to the point and didn't waste any time. The whole briefing took under an hour, even with extra explanation for Alpha Unit's benefit. He asked for questions around 1015. There weren't any.

Sephiroth pushed away from the map table. "Good. I'll see you all at 0600 tomorrow. Captain Greed, if you'd stay I've got a few more details to go over with you. The rest of you, dismissed."

Everyone filed out, Greed lifting a hand to his team as they went. They were never bothered by this officer bullcrap, because they knew that he'd tell them everything they needed to know anyway. It'd taken awhile for him to build up that kind of trust, and it was worth every second.

Besides, why should it bother them? THEY got an extra hour of sleep.

When they were alone, Sephiroth headed over to his desk, sitting down in the chair and fiddling with something below Greed's line of sight. "I've got cold water, if you'd like."

Greed had been craving a cold beer all the sticky day, but hey, he'd take water. "Sure. Thanks." He caught the plastic bottle that flew through the air in a lazy arc and just let it sit against his palms for a second, enjoying the cold. "Oh man...another ice spell?"

"Refrigerator. Less messy." Sephiroth moved back over to the map table, taking one of the chairs next to it and gesturing for Greed to take one opposite him, closer than the one he'd been in. "Did you have any questions about the briefing or the information I gave you this afternoon?"

Greed did, but half of those questions were ones he knew could be better answered by a week's experience here, another quarter were the kind you didn't ASK a Shinra commanding officer, and the other quarter he hadn't thought of a diplomatic way of asking yet. "Not really, sir. Everything was clear, and about a week here will fill in any small details, I figure."

Sephiroth tilted his head in a nod, looking pleased at that.

"The only thing that I really was curious about was what kind of work we should prepare for, sir. HQ shipped us out sort of quickly, with no word."

"Hah. It figures. I don't think that even they knew. They obviously hadn't been reading anything in my reports other than 'send more men'." The general leaned back in his chair, his braid swinging as it fell off the chair. He set his water bottle on the edge of the maptable. "We have a guerilla war on our hands here, Captain, where our enemy has the advantage of knowledge of the terrain and the sympathy of the locals. We've encountered everything from traps set in the jungle to poisoning of our supplies to outright coordinated attacks on patrols, convoys, and any man stupid enough to walk around by himself. We are hunting for 'insurgents' here, because those holding the cities insist that their territories are under control--" a twitch of one eyebrow let Greed know what Sephiroth thought of that assertion "--and that the major insurgent bases are in the jungle."

Greed looked over at the maps. "Any truth to that, sir?"

Sephiroth sighed and shrugged. "In the four months I've been here, we have seen several bases, yes, perhaps used as training facilities. My theory is that small groups of enemy forces move out of the cities to the bases to have the security and space to train, then move back into the city to await their chance to strike."

"Most of the things you mentioned don't even really require much training. Doesn't take much to dump a vial of poison in a crate, just guts." Greed sat back and took a drink, enjoying the cold sliding down his throat.

"Exactly. My guess is that the enemy has some armed and trained forces, but that most of the enemy actions are being performed by ordinary citizens with a grudge. I believe that the commanders in the cities are...mistaken about the source of our problems."

Yeah, likely deliberately, so that they could insist that THEIR areas were secure and that all the problems were in the jungle. "I assume that our intelligence is...lacking, then?"

Sephiroth's quirked eyebrow was eloquent. "To put it lightly. We've no spies in the cities or in the insurgency, and approaching the citizenry about it is an invitation to misinformation. Wutai was never deemed important enough to recruit any sources until last year, and now just about anyone who could pass for Wutaian IS Wutaian and would be uncooperative."

"Prisoners?"

Sephiroth shook his head as he took a drink. Greed carefully didn't watch the line of his throat while he did it. "We have had a few, but they have either escaped or killed themselves before being secured. In most other engagements, the enemy is a ghost, fading into the jungle or the city and leaving not even their dead behind. We have yet to capture any of the training camps unawares. Usually we show up what looks to be a day too late. Once there was still breakfast cooking unburned over the fire. Two idiotic SOLDIERS actually ate some of it and died that night. It'd been poisoned." Sephiroth gestured with his bottle at Greed. "That was the beginning of my requests for a new SOLDIER unit."

Greed had heard that Hakuro's Beta Unit had been stationed here before they'd arrived. A matched set of arrogant assholes if he'd ever met one. He wasn't really surprised that it'd gotten them killed and wondered if Hakuro had been one that'd died. He'd be so lucky.

"To make a long story short, Captain, the SOLDIER units here work reconnaisance and once we manage to make the enemy stand still long enough to engage, you will be on the front lines. Until then, patrolling and keeping out of the minefields will likely be most of your work, with some firing back at enemy snipers for a change of pace. SOLDIER units usually have five men. Are you down a man, Captain?"

Greed took a beat to register the change of subject, then straightened a bit in his chair. This was always an issue. One he was tired of explaining, but he couldn't blame the man if he wanted as many hands as he could get. "No, sir. Four is within regulations for a unit, and we work well together, sir. I assure you, we can get the job done."

"So I've heard. Your unit is something of a minor legend. I specifically asked for you because of that." Mako-green eyes watched Greed unblinkingly. Greed noticed, just then, what else was odd about them. The pupils were vertical slits, cat-like. Greed had never seen anything like it and found himself fascinated despite himself.

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank me by kindly not getting killed in a stupid fashion. If you feel the need, by all means get something constructive done in the meantime."

Damn, the man had a sharp tongue. And a black sense of humor. But Greed couldn't help a smile. "Yes, sir. We'll make sure to be killed in as constructive a manner as possible."

Was that surprise that he saw flitting through those strange but oh-so-pretty eyes? What, no one had ever joked with the man before? Greed DID suppose that Sephiroth would intimidate the hell out of most folks. Hell, he intimidated the fuck out of GREED. But Greed'd been told that he had a bit of a problem with respecting authority, and he imagined that his response to that impassive stare and black wit wasn't all that common. "Good. So, in the interest of NOT getting yourselves killed, tell me about your team. Specialties, training, that sort of thing. Anything that would be useful for me to know before putting you in the field."

A CO who actually knew what he was doing? Fuck, Greed could get used to this. Greed sat back in his chair and told him what he wanted to know. He didn't embellish, but modesty was for those who didn't have anything to show, he thought.

Sephiroth listened closely while he talked, and damn, now that Greed'd seen his eyes, all he could think of was a cat watching something particularly interesting. When he was finished, the general nodded. "Your men sound quite well-rounded. And your black ops training will come in handy. Perhaps you can outthink some of the traps and guerilla strategies. I don't stand on protocol much, Captain. New sets of eyes and ideas are always welcome."

"Yes, sir." COs often said it but didn't mean it, but Greed had the feeling that Sephiroth might actually be serious.

"How is morale in your unit? It's a touchy subject, I know, but we are under seige here, and if there are any interpersonal difficulties, I want to know about them."

Greed blinked, surprised. First at the question, and then at the fact that the general had even asked it, and THEN at the fact that since he asked it, he expected an answer. It wasn't something that one would expect a unit captain to admit to.... Not that Greed had anything to admit. "We're a tight unit, sir. We watch each others' backs like our own. There aren't any personal problems that I know about." Greed frowned. "Pardon my asking, sir, but is there anything to suggest there are?" What, had someone stuck something in their file? Was this about Martel and Dorochet sharing a bed a few times a month? Or maybe it'd gotten back to HQ about that time they'd all gotten drunk in Costa del Sol....

Sephiroth waved a hand, though, shrugging. "No, not at all. I just like to know who I'm working with. And I've been burned before because someone in a unit didn't like someone else."

Greed shook his head, voice firm. "That won't be a problem with my team, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it." Sephiroth smiled as he stood, and it looked amused. "I heard that they call Alpha Unit 'The Pack'."

Greed grinned, standing. "Yes, sir."

"Any particular reason?"

Greed grinned, shrugging. "We used to be lone wolves. Problems. Talented problems, but problems. My theory is that they threw us all together expecting us to either kill each other or get ourselves dead and out of their hair."

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, amused. Greed was beginning to see that understanding the nuances of that eyebrow's movement was going to be vital to his understanding of this man. "Really? Your unit seems quite well-respected for being made up of dead men," Sephiroth observed.

"Heh. Talented, like I said."

That won him a chuckle. Greed felt strangely pleased at that, and at the amused tone of the "Good _night_, Captain" that followed as Sephiroth turned back to his desk.

Greed came to attention and saluted smartly but couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. "Sir."

Outside, in the warm night air, he grinned. _Well,_ he thought, lighting a cigarette and contemplating whether he had or had not been flirting with General Sephiroth...and whether the Silver General had or had not been flirting back. He blew a contented stream of smoke at a moon hanging swollen and yellow over the stockade. _This certainly is going to be interesting._

***************  
Their first week in Wutai was a breeze. Three missions, two of them overnights, but by the book and easy as pie, laying down the intelligence for a raid on a suspected enemy training camp. They'd moved in at the end of the week...to an empty camp, the coals on the fires still warm.

There had been some grumbling and frustration from the troops, especially those that were veterans of this type of disappointment. Greed, though, had seen the slightly amused, grim look in the general's eyes at the time. He remembered the general sending Martel off on "support duty" He smelled a trap.

He found out that night, when Martel came back from 'support duty' grinning like a maniac. A quarter hour of hurried report, and their defeated march home swung around to an all-out march on the new enemy camp Martel had followed them back to. The insurgents, unaware that they'd been tracked, had only about a minute's warning before two dozen troops and SOLDIERs fell on them like the gods' own vengeance. The battle had been brief and bloody, but in the end Shinra emerged victorious, and morale was high as they finally marched back into camp.

"Ah, hole sweet hole."

"Hey, as long as it's got running water and some chow that doesn't come out of a dehyd pouch, it's fucking heaven."

"Amen to that." Dorochet stretched as they dropped their gear at the foot of their cots. "It should be dinner, right? I'm for the chow."

Martel breathed in deep. "Oh hell yeah. I know it's probably slop, but damn that smells good." She turned to Greed. "You with us, Captain?"

Greed waved a hand. "Naw, you go ahead. I'm for the shower first. Save me some grub, eh?"

"Sure thing." Martel slugged Law in the shoulder, and the three of them trotted toward the mess tent, joking and laughing. Greed watched them with a grin. It was good to see them in high spirits again. Good that they'd been used like they were meant to be used: as specialists, not just as extra-tough shock troops. Greed had to hand it to the general: he'd known exactly how to make the best of Martel's specialty.

It being dinnertime, the showers were deserted, which suited Greed just fine. The place was almost private, the water was cooler than body temperature, and there was enough soap to wash a week of jungle out of all his nooks and crannies. Hell, by the time the water ran clean, he felt practically human again, and most of the tension in his back and neck was slowly unkinking. He lifted one shoulder and sighed at the wonderful feeling of that knot in his left shoulder finally smoothing out with a shudder.

Greed lifted his face into the spray. He and all his people were alive. He was clean. There was food available that tasted of something more than starch and vitamin powder or undercooked lizard. He had a bed for the night that was, if not exactly luxurious, at least clean and comfortable. It was, all told, a damn good day.

Greed smiled. Only one thing to make it better, really.

He glanced over. He was in the last stall on the end, away from the door. He had the place to himself, and the partitions hid everything from the chest down unless someone was standing right behind him. He probably didn't have all the time in the world, what with dinner set to be over soon, but time enough, he figured.

After the tepid water, his hand was warm against his skin. And after the past few days' adrenaline, it didn't take more than a few practiced touches to get him hard and ready, sliding easily through soap-slick fingers. He smiled, his mind shifting over the usual catalogue of images: Martel with her t-shirt soaked with sweat and clinging just so to her high round breasts, Dorochet shirtless and sharpening his blade in front of the fire, Ginny and Jen at the Honeybee, Tam and Raven at the Pit, Law that one time in Costa del Sol when Greed'd found out that the man could kiss like a fucking dream.... Greed nearly purred at the memory, but the image morphed into someone else: white hair lengthening, build thinning, and cat-slit, mako-green eyes that glowed in the dark sure as any of theirs did, oh fuck....

*Whoa, bad idea,* Greed thought, *bad idea to even go there.* But it wasn't enough to make him stop, to slow the pump of his fist, because fuck if the man wasn't pretty.... Beautiful, sharp, and cold like the long blade he carried like it weighed no more than a stick of gum. One of the battles in the jungle flashed before Greed's eyes: turning to see Sephiroth surrounded by five men, the general a whirling blur of silver braid and steel, his attackers dead before they even hit the ground, Sephiroth's eyes glowing faintly green in the twilight, his blade dripping blood onto the leaves underfoot....

Greed had always been a man who was attracted probably a little more than was healthy to beautiful, dangerous things, and Sephiroth fell into that category so squarely Greed couldn't even begin to fight it. He wanted him. Rank and protocol be damned, he WANTED him, and he didn't even really care how he GOT him, either, didn't care which of them was the one bent over some convenient furniture and fucked hard. Whether he was over or under, Greed had to admit that he didn't care and that opened up a whole new set of mental images that made him bite down on a gasp.... Cobweb-silver hair draped over sweat-slick skin. Greed's own hands sliding over hard muscle, rolling tight nipples. His tongue sliding over long, sword-callused fingers, and then those fingers in his hair as he sucked hard on a heavy, flushed cock, just to hear what noises he could get out of that lovely, lovely mouth, see how loud he could make him moan, how hard he could make him come....

Greed hissed as the pleasure peaked, hard and fast, whiting out his vision. It was a long moment until he could get his breath back and banish the mental image of Sephiroth's imagined cock from his mind. Didn't need THAT popping up during roll call one morning.... He chuckled, feeling the slow warmth of afterglow settle in his belly as he tossed water at the splash of seed on the wall. He lifted his face into the spray again, letting the water pour over him for a few long minutes, washing away sweat and semen and tension. He might even have dozed a bit. Maybe.

"Falling asleep, Captain?"

Greed almost started, water getting in his eyes as he turned and caught sight of a silver braid trailing down a bare, pale back as a shirt was taken off. Sephiroth slung his towel over the partition two stalls down, turning to face Greed while he took off his boots. Greed grinned, carefully not watching as more of Sephiroth's skin came into sight. Sure, he just got off, but hey, no tempting fate, right? "Not quite. After dinner, though, all bets are off."

"My thoughts exactly...but in the opposite order."

Greed busied himself with turning off the water and drying his face and hair until Sephiroth had finished undressing and stepped into his own stall. "The mess tent still serving?"

"I believe so. If they're not, you have my permission to accost the cooks and requisition leftovers." Sephiroth's hands weaved, unwinding his braid slowly as his face tilted up into the spray.

Greed chuckled as he finished drying himself off and pulled on his pants and boots. "Yes, sir."

"Get some sleep, Captain. We'll debrief tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir. I'll tell my men."

"Good. Good night, Captain."

"Good night, sir."

As he shut the door of the showers behind him, Greed sighed. He looked up at the sunset glowing through the canopy, his mind's eye filled with pale hair and pale skin.

The fact that he hadn't seen everything just made him want to that much more.

Greed sighed again as he headed for the mess tent, patting down his shirt for his smokes. "I'm fucking doomed."

\--------------------

It wasn't all quick victory and fun and games, of course. It never was.

A month after the successful training camp raid, one of the regular army detachments lost two men to a new minefield and a dozen more to sniper fire, and Greed's pack ran into not one, but two well-laid ambushes. Luckily, they got away with nothing more serious than a few scrapes and a twisted ankle for Law. Rho Unit wasn't so lucky: two men dead and another who might never walk again.

It was the randomness of war, Greed knew. It was how things went: one day you're the dog, the next you're the hydrant. Even so, it was a harsh run of luck, and Greed saw it take its toll. The near-annihilation of Rho Unit, though, had spooked the rest of the camp, along with the rumors (unconfirmed, but wide-spread) that the cooks had had to throw out several crates of food that had been poisoned.

The Wutaians, it seemed, were done screwing around with the Shinra.

Greed's unit was pretty tough, though, and they'd dealt well with what came their way. So, though they were a bit more subdued, a bit more paranoid, Greed wasn't worried about them.

Then came the third ambush.

It was a day raid, trying to catch their nocturnal enemy napping. Alpha, Chi, and one of the 34th's regular army squads were to strike at an enemy encampment ten miles from the Shinra base. The encampment was thought to be the enemy's base of operations for most of their recent sniper and ambush activities.

Everything, at first, had gone according to plan. The enemy encampment was where the scouts had said it was, and forward scouts took care of the sentries without any alarm being raised. The layout of the camp--sitting as it was in some old ruins and full of lines of sight broken by boulders, crumbling walls, and trees--made it hard to tell, but they caught, killed, or drove off enough enemy bodies to make it feel like a success. In the first overwhelming rush, Chi unit had even managed to secure a few prisoners. Sephiroth looked pleased for the first time in weeks at that, and he'd just given the order to form up and start the trek back to camp when the shit hit the fan.

At first, it sounded like an earthquake, the ground trembling delicately beneath their feet. The tremors were followed by a dull, hollow roar like the wind through the trees, growing louder with every passing second.

Greed hissed at Dorochet and Martel to close ranks and stay close...and then one of the ruined temples to their right exploded as a long, serpentine gout of fire with fangs dripping magma and eyes of red lightning shot up out of it. The thing had to be twenty feet long if it was an inch.

The fire snake began laying waste to the regular army squad that had been clustered around the temple. The air stank of brimstone and burnt flesh, superheated around the snake's writhing coils. The Pack took cover behind a hunk of moss-covered stone, and the three of them pumped round after round of pistol ammunition into it, all without so much as getting its attention. The only thing that turned its wrath away from the poor regular bastards was when Sephiroth threw a blizzara spell at it. The thing HISSED and snapped back on itself, staring balefully at Sephiroth, a slash of pale skin and hair against the green of the jungle, Masamune rimed with frost as he called another ice spell.

The firedrake attacked, and Greed held his breath.

No one but the Silver General could have held the thing off by himself, with nothing but mid-level ice magic and a fucking huge sword to work with. It was the kind of battle that had earned Sephiroth his reputation among the men as superhuman, and rightfully so. The drake was fast, but Sephiroth was faster, dodging the thing's firey breath and flipping over its crushing coils with apparent ease. The drake, most of its flames doused and enraged by the constant barrage of ice spells, flailed at the general wildly, but managed only to hit several of the ruins, stones crashing to the ground as Sephiroth flipped, spun, and slashed at the thing's midsection. Something that was not blood and which made the ground steam where it spattered gushed out, and Masamune glowed blue-white as Sephiroth stabbed it in, spitting the snake neatly. The ice magic crawled blue-white over the monster's skin, crackling and hissing, and with a final roar, the snake exploded into half a dozen pieces.

Everything was really quiet for a long moment after that.

When Sephiroth moved, the sound of his boots crunching on frozen snake bits was loud. "Alpha."

It took Greed a second to remember that that was him. "Sir."

"You and Chi set up a quick perimeter."

"Sir!"

"The rest of you, get cracking. I want every wounded man on a litter and being carried out of here in under two hours. Move it!"

Everyone moved it.

It took three hours, just because there were so damned many wounded. They were lucky they didn't get attacked on the way back to base, since just about everyone had their hands full carrying half of a litter. Greed thanked whatever god might be listening that his men were doing the carrying and not the riding. If they'd all been standing another fifty feet to the right...well....

Greed tried not to dwell on it.

 

\-----

Dinner that night was subdued, the mess tent emptier than usual because of the dead and wounded. Everyone ate quickly and quietly, ghosting back out without much conversation. Greed made the round of his men, making sure that everyone was all right, now that the adrenaline had worn off. They were all a bit shaken, but they'd kept it together and were all clustered around Law's cot, playing poker. "Join us, Captain?" Martel'd asked. "Always room for one more."

Greed almost said yes, but something held him back. "Nah, maybe later. Save a seat for me?"

"Sure thing."

Greed left them arguing about whose deal it was. He went outside into the warm night air and lit a cigarette. He'd long since smoked the last of his own personal stash, and so all that was left was the shitty rationed crap that they gave at the commissary. He ground it out under his heel after a minute, half-smoked. Then his eyes settled on the command building, and he sighed, realizing what had him all restless: he had someone else that he needed to check in on.

The idea that a lowly captain needed to check in on the Silver General was laughable. But, Greed thought as he trudged across camp, hands in his pockets, it wasn't like anyone ELSE was gonna make sure he was ok. Oh, physically maybe, but Greed got the impression that Sephiroth hadn't had anyone looking out for his mental well-being for a long time, and...it'd been a rough day for everyone.

Command looked dark from the outside, but the door was unlocked when Greed tried the knob.

Sephiroth's desk lamp was the only light in the place. The man himself was looking through some papers on his desk. Stray wisps of snow-bright hair that had escaped his braid caught the light in a hazy nimbus. The bottle of brandy in the middle of the desk blotter shined like a star. He looked up. "Captain."

Greed saluted. "Sir. Just came for a 37-A9. Forgot to fill one out for Law before we headed out last night."

"Hm. Third filing cabinet against the wall, second drawer down, in the front." He gestured. "I'd get it now, if I were you. By tomorrow I expect we'll be out of them."

Greed found the cabinet and the form: Form 37-A9: Injury and/or Casualty Report. "Yeah," he said, sliding the drawer shut. "I expect we will." He hesitated. Sephiroth's eyes had turned back to his desk. Greed knew he could just walk out. Maybe SHOULD just walk out. The liquor bottle, though, was not a sign of a man at peace. Greed wandered casually towards the desk, tapping the rolled-up form in his palm. "How bad are the numbers?" he asked quietly.

Sephiroth closed his eyes. "Nineteen dead. Twenty-three injured, half of them seriously, and a handful of those not expected to survive the trip back to Junon."

"Damn." That was a little worse than Greed had thought. It had been hard to tell, what with that thing tearing into such a dense knot of people, its skin so hot that it didn't even have to touch them to set their clothes on fire.... Greed had seen a lot of bad in his life, and that...that'd been rough.

"Yeah," Sephiroth agreed. His eyes flicked up to Greed's face, clear and appraising. Whatever he saw there made his eyes thaw...just a bit. He nodded to the bottle. "Drink?"

Greed smiled wryly. "You need to ask, after today?"

"I suppose not. Have a seat." Greed did, dragging over the chair from a nearby desk, and Sephiroth got up to gather another paper cup to match the first already sitting by the bottle. "Mind the fine china," he said dryly, handing the cup to Greed, a generous two fingers sloshing inside. He turned his chair, sitting on it backwards.

"Yes, sir. Thanks." Greed tipped back a swallow, the brandy sliding like liquid fire down his throat and settling with a pleasurable burn in his stomach. "Mmm...good stuff." It was. High-end. The stuff you'd expect a general to drink.

"If one's going to drink, it might as well be something worth drinking."

Greed grinned. "My thought exactly." He watched Sephiroth pour more into his own cup, the sound of liquid loud in the quiet building. Greed looked down at his drink, his voice quiet. "What _was_ that thing this morning, sir?"

"I don't know." The bottle was returned to the blotter. "Some kind of guardian spirit, perhaps. After all, we were shedding blood over what was probably sacred ground at some point."

"Ah, the ruins?"

"Mmm." The general nodded, sipping. "The jungle is filled with them. The Wutaians' own history says that they used to live here before moving to the river valley. There are entire villages out here, claimed by the forest."

"You think we'll run into something like that again?"

One eyebrow arched wryly, one hand turned in a shrug. "I wish I knew. I hope that it was just an isolated guardian spirit. The idea that the Wutaians have started summoning monsters to sic on us is...much worse."

"...yeah...yeah, it is." Even the SOLDIERs didn't all have materia junctioned, let alone the regulars, and ice magic had been the only thing that had cooled the drake down enough so that Sephiroth's sword hadn't melted to slag within a foot of the thing. Seeing those monsters on a regular basis without some new equipment would be a death sentence.

"Indeed." The general sat back, paper cup cradled in his hands like it was cut crystal. "How are your men?"

"Fine. Law was laid up with his ankle and wasn't on the last mission. Martel and Dorochet're both fine. We were far enough away to get behind cover pretty quick. I imagine the regulars' morale's pretty low, though. Mess tent was awful quiet."

"...yes. I imagine so." Sephiroth's eyes dropped to the desk. Greed could see a list of names on it. About twenty of them. Greed could see the faintest of pained lines between those white brows. Not that he was taking his time looking at Sephiroth's face or anything.

"You really care, don't you?" It took Greed a second to realize he'd said that out loud. He blamed the brandy.

Sephiroth blinked up at him. "What?"

"About the men." Greed tossed back the rest of the brandy, paper-flavored from the cup. "Not every CO does. And you...well.... You're a legend. Folks can't tell, don't know."

"Don't they?"

Greed didn't like the flat tone of his voice, the way he looked off into the darkness in the corners. He looked at the general over his cup. "It's hard to tell what you're thinking."

Sephiroth picked up the bottle again, his voice quiet. "No one cares what I think."

Greed set his cup down carefully. The brandy was starting to warm him in earnest. The scent of it was heavy in the air as Sephiroth poured again. "You sure about that?"

Green eyes flicked up at him, hard, and Greed was just tipsy enough to meet them. "Yes. No one cares what I think, Captain, and no one ever has. I am a tool. A weapon. I've never been anything else." The bottle thumped down harder than strictly necessary on the desk. "I go where I am bid and do as I am told, even when my orders make no sense and only make things worse." He looked down at his hands, white-knuckled around the back of his chair. The whole thing creaked as he let go, and Greed was pretty sure that he could see the outline of fingers pressed into the metal.

Sephiroth's bangs fell forward, hiding his face as he reached for his cup, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and low again. "No one cares what I think."

"I wasn't," Greed said, "talking about Corporate."

Sephiroth blinked, and Greed had the rare opportunity to see the Silver General look bemused. Then he chuckled, strained though it sounded. He leaned his forehead on his arms, across the back of the chair. "You...I don't have _friends_, Captain."

"Well...you've got at least one." That was perilously close to sappy, Greed knew, but also really damn close to truth. All the brandy's fault. Again. Yeah.

One pale eyebrow arched slightly, Sephiroth's expression still amused. "Do I?"

Ok, now THAT was a challenge. And let no man say that Matthias Greed wasn't up to a challenge. "Yeah. Y'know. If you want him. I mean...you could send him off to count snowflakes at Icicle Lodge or something. Not much he could do about that."

Sephiroth almost smiled at that. "Why would I do that?"

"I dunno. If you thought he was being too familiar with a superior officer. Sir." _And wouldn't I love to get too familiar with--damn, I've gotta stop that...._ Greed had the distinct impression that this conversation was getting out of hand...somehow. The almost-warm amusement moving behind the cool green of Sephiroth's eyes convinced him, but since that something was also making Greed feel warm and tingly in ways that he, in all good conscience, COULDN'T blame on the brandy, well....

"It might," Sephiroth said, "not be a good idea for him to get too familiar with me. He doesn't know much about me."

"He knows you've got a good head on your shoulders and care about your men. Probably goes a long way, s'far as he's concerned." _And the fact that you are sexy as fuck doesn't hurt, either._ "He's had damn good friendships start with less."

"Hmm...." Sephiroth propped an elbow on the desk, leaning his chin on it as he watched Greed...like a cat. The man was watching him like a cat with a mouse that'd done something interesting.

Greed got the feeling that he'd somehow given away a lot more than he'd wanted to, somewhere along the way. He wondered whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. "Something wrong, sir?"

"Not at all. Why do you ask?" Sephiroth stood and moved to sit on the edge of the desk. Closer to Greed, Greed had to notice.

"...no reason."

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Captain?"

_Fuck yes, in all kinds of fun ways and not just because you keep changing the subject like you're waiting for me to slip up._ Greed kept his eyes and voice level. "Not really, sir."

"I've been told...never to my face, mind you...that I unnerve people. Without really trying, actually."

Greed blinked. His brain caught up sluggishly with the change in subjects, and something clicked into place. "Heh. I don't know about that, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Sephiroth's head tilted to the side. "Granted."

Greed stood, and with where Sephiroth was sitting, just that movement brought them...close. "I think that you like unnerving people sometimes. I think you do it to keep people away." Greed smiled. "Like you're doin' right now."

Greed knew he'd hit the mark by the way the other man went perfectly still. That close, Greed could see the widening of his eyes, oh so slight. Hell, that close Greed could SMELL him, sharp like ice and steel. Dangerous. And Greed'd just called his bluff. Perhaps...not the smartest thing to do.

It would have taken a stronger man than Greed to not be relieved when Sephiroth chuckled, then laughed outright. Not mocking, but wry. "I really should stop underestimating you, Captain."

There was a time and a place to allow a strategic retreat. Greed wasn't the world's best strategist, but he was damn good at reading a battlefield. And this one read like he was going to lose whatever strange intimacy they'd gained awfully fast if he let Sephiroth change the subject. A wise man might have let the Silver General go.

Greed, however, had never claimed to be a wise man. He looked into slitted, mako-green eyes not two feet away and asked, "_Do_ you want me to go away? Sir?"

Sephiroth didn't give an inch. "And if I said yes?"

Greed shrugged slightly, not breaking eye contact. "I'd leave. No sense being around where you're not wanted."

Sephiroth's head tilted to the other side. The curious cat look was back, and this close the sheer pressure of the man's attention was like a hand against Greed's chest. "And if I said no?"

"I'd stay. Try and con you out of another drink."

"And that's all?"

"Unless you wanted something else."

"And if I did?"

Greed took a breath and smiled. "Might be willing to give it to you."

The answering smile was slow and the sexiest thing that Greed'd seen in a long damn time. "Are you _flirting_ with me, Captain?"

Greed reminded himself about guts and glory. "I don't know, sir. Are you flirting with me?"

Sephiroth considered this for a long moment. "Perhaps."

"Not sure?"

"Are you?"

"Not really."

"Hmm...well, then, we're at an impasse."

"Guess so, sir."

"Any ideas on how we can resolve this, captain?"

"Oh yeah.... You promise not to court-martial me?"

"I promise."

Greed leaned forward and kissed him.

There was, to be honest, a split second when Greed was afraid: not that he'd get court martialed, but that he'd get DEAD. It was like sparring hand-to-hand: you could tell when the person wasn't expecting your move, when you'd surprised them and tripped their survival instincts and they had to rein themselves in to keep from Really Hurting you.

That first kiss was kind of like that. Even though he was only touching lips, Greed could feel Sephiroth jerk in one, reflexive start, then go stock still. Greed was just about to pull back when some of the tension leaked away, and the other man relaxed a bit--just a bit--one hand settling on Greed's shoulder.

Ice spells, cool looks, cold steel.... There was nothing cool about Sephiroth's mouth as it tilted up into Greed's, nothing icy about the way it opened and certainly nothing cold about the tongue that slid out, brandy-flavored, to part Greed's lips. A touch more tentative than Greed would have expected, perhaps...but not cold by a long shot.

Fuck, but he tasted good. Greed wanted to take that one step closer, to wrap a hand around Sephiroth's neck and hold him there so Greed could fucking TAKE his mouth good and proper and then push him back onto the desk and--

Greed, however, was not suicidal, so he stayed where he was and satisfied himself with sucking hungrily on Sephiroth's tongue.

The sound of a jeep stopping outside made them both jerk away. Greed muttered a heartfelt curse at the rest of the camp, stepping back, just in case someone was about to come through the door. His lips tingled, tasting of brandy.

Sephiroth just watched him, and it was hard to tell in the light, but he might have had a bit more color to his face than usual. Maybe. After a long, awkward moment, he mused quietly, "I always disapproved of superiors who'd fraternize with subordinates."

Greed's lips twisted in a wry smile. "I always figured if everyone knows the score and is willing, what's it matter?"

"And what _is_ the score?"

"From where I'm standing? Oh, just seeing a sexy man and wanting a little fun. Little stress relief for everyone involved. No strings attached."

Voices outside, and the scuff of boots, coming closer. Sephiroth's eyes flicked to the door, looking about as annoyed as Greed felt. Damn but Greed wished he'd locked that door when he came in.

The door opened, and Greed almost missed Sephiroth's soft, "2200, my tent." He pushed off his desk, moving around to his chair again, his smile more in his eyes than anything. His fingers tapped the liquor bottle idly. "Nightcap. If you're interested."

Greed saluted. "Yes, sir."

And then the interrupting bastards were there, saluting and wanting to report to the general, and Greed turned and walked past them, very glad that BDUs were loose and practically MADE to hide how very, very hard he was. As the door closed behind him, he took a deep breath of the warm night air and glanced at his watch. And wondered what the HELL he was going to do for the two hours until 2200.

In the end, he walked around and thought about puppies and kittens until he could face his pack without wanting to jump someone's bones. Then he went and played poker and lost nearly every hand. He really hoped that that wasn't an omen. By the time 2200 rolled around, Martel was nodding off over her winnings, and the others were yawning. Greed waved a hand goodnight and went out "for a smoke". Dorochet gave him a strange look at that, but smirked and raised hand back. But then again, Dorochet had looked at him funny when he'd sat down to be dealt in. The man had a mako-powered nose like a bloodhound, and hell, for all Greed knew, he _smelled_ like Sephiroth. Or maybe just like sex.

Sephiroth's tent was pretty much like any other unit tent in the camp, except that he had it to himself. When Greed tapped on the canvas and slipped inside, it looked pretty much the same as when he'd been in it a handful of other times, to report or go over strategy. The maptable was still strewn with papers of every size and importance, the cot in its drape of mosquito netting hidden over in the corner, his armor on its stand nearby, Masamune leaning sheathed against the frame, in easy reach. The only thing different was the familiar bottle of brandy sitting on the maptable, beside two glasses made of actual glass.

Sephiroth looked the same as he had two hours ago, still in trousers and high boots, dress shirt cuffs rolled to his elbows. He didn't look surprised that Greed was there.

They never got to the brandy. Greed walked in and stopped a few feet in front of Sephiroth, his hands in his pockets. Sephiroth watched him levelly as he slowly closed the distance between them, maybe giving Greed a chance to back off, as if that weren't the furthest thing from Greed's mind. This time it was Sephiroth that leaned down and kissed him, and it was like the last two hours hadn't even existed. Greed rumbled softly in his throat, tilting his head up, mouth opening so he could nip lightly at the wily tongue that slid inside. A strong hand wrapped around the back of Greed's skull, Sephiroth tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and then he was _purring_ into Greed's mouth in a way that went straight to Greed's cock. Greed growled back, one hand sliding around Sephiroth's waist, stepping in to close the final inches between them. The feel of Sephiroth long and hard against his hip was better than anything Greed'd felt in a long damn time. The soft, hungry sound grinding against it drew from the man was even better.

Sephiroth wrapped an arm around Greed's waist, walking him back towards the cot, and Greed followed, distracted, mouth sliding down his throat, tonguing the hollow and tasting salt and skin. Hands slid under Greed's tank, and oh man but that felt good, and hey, turnabout's fair play damn why did dress shirts have so many buttons....

Getting naked was easier than advertised, once they set their minds to it, which was good, since they were both impatient and likely to rip any clothing that didn't cooperate. Greed nudged Sephiroth onto the cot and perched on the edge for a long moment, just looking at him. Even with the scars that occasionally slashed white across his pale skin...fuck but he looked good, every muscle toned and perfect, a strong chest tapering to a tight six-pack and a long, flushed cock that made Greed's mouth water.

He looked up and saw Sephiroth giving him the same appraising look. Evidently he passed, since there was genuine heat in Sephiroth's eyes, glowing softly in the dim light. A hand stroked over a long thin scar on Greed's hip, and Greed shivered, his prick twitching. "Ok," Greed breathed. "This is where we do the thing where we make sure everyone's greenlighted and on the same page."

"I want to fuck you." The words were almost a growl.

"Ok, good, we're on the same page, then." Greed leaned over and licked hard at the head before wrapping his mouth around and taking it in deep.

Sephiroth hissed, arching, and Greed shifted to straddle him, to get his hands around the other man's ass and pull him closer, lashing with his tongue and sucking hard and wishing that they weren't in the middle of an army encampment so he could make Sephiroth _scream_ for him. Instead, it was eerily quiet like sex in close quarters usually was. Greed drank in every twitch of the flesh in his mouth, every jerk of the body beneath his, every gasp and soft moan. It was _him_ doing this to _Sephiroth_, and it made him so hard it _hurt_. He pulled away, reluctantly, voice hoarse. "Still want to fuck me?"

"Hell, yes." Sephiroth was definitely flushed now, propped up on his elbows so he could watch what Greed was doing.

"Lube?"

Sephiroth blinked, and the "oh shit" look was almost comical. Greed grinned, leaning down and fishing a tube out of his BDUs. "Got it covered."

That earned him a smile. "Always prepared."

Greed sketched a salute with the tube, then popped it open, leaning over to lick and nibble at pale pink nipples as he lubed himself up, his fingers feeling almost too good. He wrapped a hand around Sephiroth's cock, lube and spit making him wet and slick, and Greed knelt carefully astride him with the practiced ease of a man used to fucking on an army cot. He watched from two feet away as he lowered himself, watched those alien eyes dilate, watched the pleasure shatter the last of the cool Silver General mask, and then Sephiroth's cock slid over his prostate, and he lost track of watching. Greed leaned back, hands braced on the other man's thighs, and a long-fingered hand, rough and perfect with sword calluses, wrapped around his prick. Greed moaned in the back of his throat, rocking up and down, fucking himself on that long cock, meeting each thrust, feeling Sephiroth's thighs flex under his hands, and it was good, it was _perfect_, heat building fast and strong and easy between them.

Greed wanted it to last longer, but each thrust shot pleasure up his spine, and the hand around him was tight and slick with his own precome. Orgasm hit him almost unprepared, and he nearly drew blood biting back a scream as he came, hard. Sephiroth's hands, one wet with Greed's own come, gripped Greed's hips, pulling him down hard, fucking him through it and then holding him as Sephiroth's hips snapped up, so good that it nearly made Greed see _stars_. Greed opened his eyes just in time to see Sephiroth's head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry as he came.

Damn, he was beautiful.

Once they'd both gotten their breath back, Sephiroth pulled his hands away from Greed's hips. Greed was pretty sure that he'd have ten perfect fingerprints bruised onto them in the morning, but he was just fine with that. One hand came away with a slightly wet sound, and Sephiroth grimaced. "Sorry about that."

Greed grinned. "S'okay. I'm washable."

"Hm." Sephiroth traced a finger over the come-slick hip, a small, private smile crossing his lips when Greed shivered again.

"Mmm...I suppose I need to move, huh?" It was a shame. Sephiroth looked like a sated cat.

"If we want a towel, yes." A sated cat with a lovely, sarcastic wit.

"Tough choice."

"Mmm."

The silence stretched, not entirely awkward, as they got cleaned up and dressed. Greed grabbed his smokes by instinct and was surprised when Sephiroth accepted one. "Didn't know you smoked," he said, lighting them both off the same match.

"I don't, usually." He drew in the smoke easily, though, eyes closing almost sleepily before breathing out again.

Greed chuckled. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Yes." Sephiroth smiled, more with his eyes than anything. It made him look younger, made Greed wonder exactly how old he _was_. Hell, even that was probably classified. "Drink?"

"As much as you'll let me?" Greed rubbed his hands together.

"That's why you get the small glass."

"Aw, man...."

Moving over to the maptable led to idle perusing of the maps, and that led to talking shop, looking for more temple ruins to investigate or avoid. By midnight, he was nearly falling asleep in his chair. Sephiroth prodded him awake with one foot, and Greed stood and stretched, smiling. They wished each other goodnight, and he left, easy as that. Behind him, Sephiroth still looked disgustingly wide awake, sifting slowly through the maps.

When Greed slid into his tent and padded over to his cot, everyone was asleep. Well, almost everyone. One knowing blue eye cracked open from the next cot, glowing slightly in the dark. Greed levelled a finger at it, muttering, "Not one word, pup."

Dorochet rolled over with a chuckle.

Greed laid back on his cot, smiling. His pack was safe, he had good brandy still running through his veins, felt deliciously well-fucked all around....

Life was good.


End file.
